


all our lives

by valedictories



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Engagement, F/F, Marriage Proposal, Post-Finale, in which KORRA IS A REALLY HUGE NERD and asami loves her for it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-11 11:36:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3326006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valedictories/pseuds/valedictories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Asami is her heart; Asami is her home. And soon, now, Asami will be her wife.</p>
<p>(Alternatively: Korra <i>really</i> needs to find better hiding places for important things.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	all our lives

**Author's Note:**

> the original intent here was to write a Serious Proposal Scene, but then korra is a huge dork and i guess it'd be kind of weird for her to carry around a ring in her pocket all the time, so... this happened instead.
> 
> unbeta'd, barely edited, basically just a huge korrasami trashfest, etc. these two are really dumb and really in love and REALLY CANON and my life will never be the same.

 

It’s the third night in a row they’ve settled for takeout for dinner and Korra is trying very hard not to look at Asami while she eats, because, well—Asami is just so _pretty,_ even with a damn noodle dangling out of her mouth, and yeah, sure, she’s Korra’s girlfriend and all, but it’s still not nice to stare.

 

They’re on opposite ends of the couch. Korra’s feet are in Asami’s lap, and Asami is very intently reading what Korra suspects to be a romance novel, flipping pages between slurps of noodle. Her hair is up in a bun but there are little tufts of black loose everywhere, at the nape of her neck and at her temples, spilling over her forehead; her face is wiped clean of makeup and she’s traded her skirt and blazer for sweatpants and a tank top, and really, even after three years of being together, Korra still doesn’t understand how it’s possible for someone to look so good _all the time._ She shifts on the couch and _swears_ she can feel a lump under her seat, even though that’s impossible—she’s checked and re-checked a hundred times and she’s _sure_ —the box hidden there definitely isn’t big enough for anyone to notice, especially not Asami, who spends most of her time at home sitting at her desk, anyway, and has no reason to go digging through the couch cushions. It’s fine, Korra reminds herself. Asami doesn’t suspect a thing, so there’s no need to worry.

 

(Really, it’s an _awesome_ hiding spot.)

 

It isn’t until she feels a squeeze around her ankle that she realizes she’s zoned out while staring at Asami’s face. When her brain catches up with the rest of her body, her girlfriend is looking back at her with a raised eyebrow and an amused smile, and Korra can only think of one thing to say.

 

“You’re so pretty.”

 

It’s dumb, but Asami laughs, and Korra feels an all-too-familiar fluttering in her ribcage; the lump under the cushion feels harder, more defined. She swings her legs over the couch and maneuvers herself around so that her head comes to rest in Asami’s lap instead, and Asami sets her book aside and threads her fingers through Korra’s hair, scratching gently at her scalp.

 

“Always the romantic,” she teases, and Korra scrunches her nose. Asami is smiling still, and she’s looking at her with—really—the loveliest eyes she’s ever seen, and Korra can’t remember a time when her favorite color was anything but green.

 

They fall into a comfortable silence. It’s something they do often, quietly admiring each other, and for as much as she loves talking and laughing and flirting with Asami, Korra thinks these moments are her favorites: it doesn’t matter if they’re curled up together like this or if they’re staring at each other from across a crowded room—Asami looks at her like she can’t believe she’s real, and sometimes Korra can’t believe it, either. She’s the Avatar and her life should be anything but simple, but being with Asami is so beautiful and so _easy_ , and Korra loves her—she’s _so_ in love with her; she’s never been more sure of anything. Asami feels like forever and she feels like home, and the thought tugs at Korra’s chest, a steady pull.

 

But then the lump under the cushion presses at her _again,_ and okay, Korra’s starting to think that they should maybe look into buying a new couch, because this one is seriously uncomfortable.

 

“You’re fidgety tonight,” Asami laughs, and Korra’s eyes go wide. She lays a palm flat on Korra’s forehead, smoothing down the flyaway hairs there. “What’s on your mind?”

 

Her brain flashes to the box hiding beneath her, square and lined with white silk. But then she remembers the takeout going cold on the coffee table, and instead she fumbles and asks, “Do you ever miss living at the estate?”

 

Asami looks confused, so Korra elaborates: “It’s just—we order in a lot, and, I mean, I know you always had cooks around when you were growing up, and I’m not exactly the best in the kitchen”—which is an understatement; there are still stains on their ceiling from an unfortunate stir fry incident the first night they spent in the apartment together—“so, I don’t know, I guess I feel bad. Which is silly, I know, but still.” She’s out of breath, and Asami is looking at her with an expression she can’t quite read, and she’ll admit that _maybe_ that wasn’t the best cover she could have come up with, all things considered. (She’s not even sure what she was covering up for in the first place, really, but her face is suddenly very warm.)

 

“…I like being here with you. I don’t care what we eat,” Asami says after a beat; she’s staring at Korra hard, searching her for something, and it makes her nervous— _why is she so nervous?_ Asami removes her palm from Korra’s forehead and places it instead on her cheek, and Korra’s face is on _fire,_ and when she squirms again Asami asks, “Are you okay? You’re burning up, and you usually only talk this fast when you’re worked up about something,” and Korra’s mind keeps flashing between Asami and _forevers_ and the ring, and then before she can stop herself or understand what’s happening she’s grabbing at Asami’s hand on her cheek and opening her mouth and—

 

“Marry me.”

 

(And _crap,_ that wasn’t how this was supposed to go, but it’s too late to take it back—and she doesn’t really want to, besides.)

 

Asami’s face is suddenly blank, but okay, Korra can’t worry about what that means right this second, she’s already let it slip and she has to say this _now_ —she shoots up from Asami’s lap, and in one smooth motion she tears the cushion from the couch and grabs the ring box, small and solid in her palm. Then, slowly, she slides to the floor in front of Asami, whose hands are frozen halfway to her mouth and who looks like she’s maybe forgotten how to breathe.

 

“Asami, I—” and yeah, okay, maybe Korra’s having some trouble with the whole breathing thing, too: “—I love you. I’m _so_ in love with you, Asami, and this wasn’t how I pictured I’d do this, I was thinking maybe we could go on a vacation to the South Pole or maybe to the Spirit World again, or even just a dinner at the gazebo on Air Temple Island or something—I hadn’t figured out the details yet, but—I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and I don’t want to wait.”

 

And she doesn’t. She’s the Avatar and she spent her life never knowing if she _could_ get married, if that sort of thing was allowed—Aang did it, she knows, but he had an entire culture to restore, and she wasn’t sure if it would be different with her—but even if it is, she loves Asami and she doesn’t care what the rules are. She loves her and she wants to be with her, always, Avatar or not.

 

So she opens the box. Asami gasps, so small that Korra almost doesn’t hear it, and she hopes that’s a good thing. She knows Asami loves her too, but she didn’t exactly give her much warning—didn’t give _herself_ much warning, even—and, well, this is kind of a big deal, so. Korra steels herself, focuses on the glisten in Asami’s eyes, breathes in deep.

 

“Asami, I _really_ want to marry you, so—will you marry me?”

 

There are a few agonizing seconds where Asami doesn’t say anything, where her eyes keep flicking between Korra and the ring, as if she’s trying to work out some calculation in her head. But then her face breaks into a grin and she starts _laughing_ —she clutches at her sides and doubles over and _cracks up,_ and okay, not exactly the response Korra was hoping for, but.

 

“Korra,” she sputters, and Korra might be taken aback by how inelegant she is, if her damn nerves weren’t currently eating her alive. There are tears in Asami’s eyes from the force of her laughter, but she doesn’t bother wiping them away. “Korra… you hid an engagement ring in the _couch cushions?”_

 

Korra pouts. “I knew you’d never look there—”

She doesn’t get to finish the thought, because Asami practically launches off the couch and into her lap, clumsily pressing their mouths together. Her hands reach up to cradle Korra’s jaw and Korra isn’t exactly sure how to react, because _of course_ she loves kissing Asami, it’s one of her favorite things in the world, except she’s still hasn’t gotten an answer and it’s kind of killing her. But then Asami pulls back an inch and says, “Yes,” kisses her again while Korra is still working to play catch-up: “ _Yes,_ I’ll marry you,” and Korra’s brain fizzles and dies for a second before roaring back to life again, because— _holy crap, she just said_ yes _—_ and suddenly, even though she’d never given it much thought before, Korra feels as if she’s been waiting to hear those words her entire life. Her arms wrap around Asami’s middle and she squeezes so tightly that Asami grunts, and Korra laughs and eases up a little and kisses her and kisses her until they’re both breathless.

 

_“Really?”_ Korra says after they pull apart, beaming at Asami with probably the biggest grin that’s ever been plastered on her face. Asami presses a kiss to the tip of her nose and nods.

 

“Of _course_ ,” she says, sliding her hands down to Korra’s shoulders. “I mean—I wasn’t expecting you to—I’ve been tinkering with some designs for a betrothal necklace for a while now, but I haven’t settled on the perfect one yet, and… I guess you beat me to it.” And Korra’s heart swells even bigger than before, because she can picture it so clearly: Asami holed up in her office, reading up on Water Tribe traditions, sketching out pages and pages of potential necklaces in her design books, spending business meetings jotting down ideas in the margins of her notes, dedicated and determined, like she is with all of her work—it’s perfect. _She’s_ perfect.

 

And this perfect girl just agreed to marry her.

 

Korra untangles herself from Asami then and holds the ring box up between them, and Asami looks down at it and nods again, offering her left hand. They’re both quiet as Korra takes the ring and slides it onto Asami’s finger, slowly and deliberately, and quieter still as they stare at their joined hands afterward, letting it sink in: because this is real—they’re _engaged_. They’re in love, and they’re _engaged,_ and for as much as this isn’t how she pictured her proposal would go, Korra has never been so happy. The big romantic gestures she’d been planning never would have compared to this, she thinks: just the two of them, more in love than they’ve ever been, laughing together on their apartment floor. It’s so silly and so _them_ that it’s kind of perfect the way it is, cold takeout and disheveled couch cushions and all.

 

When she looks up again, Asami is staring at her. Her cheeks are damp with tears but she’s smiling, and she looks more than just happy. She looks like she’s at peace. After all they’ve been through together—the traumas they’ve endured, the death and sickness and loneliness and pain, the world they’ve seen torn apart and rebuilt over and over again, always with them in the center—Korra knows with a sudden, serene clarity that _this_ is what she wants most out of everything: to keep Asami feeling that way for the rest of their lives. Asami is her heart; Asami is her home. And soon, now, Asami will be her wife.

 

They lean in until their foreheads touch, and Korra closes her eyes. She doesn’t hear so much as _feel_ when Asami breaks the silence, her voice hardly louder than a whisper, soft and warm and contented and alive.

 

“I love you.”

 

“I love you, too.”

 

She does. And she will, forever.

**Author's Note:**

> not sure when i'll have time to write fic again, but my tumblr is basically korrasami trash central, if that's something you're into: valedictories.tumblr.com


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